


Fools Off Their Guard Can Fall and Fall Hard

by bleep0bleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Aladdin, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Djinni & Genies, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Magic, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Romance, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:50:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles shakes his head, walking past yet another mound of treasure, this time in the form of gold statues, glimmering softly in the recesses of the cave. Yesterday he was just another street rat living in the kingdom, and since then he'd met the prince, been sentenced to death, escaped into the desert with a strange hag with a magical necklace, and walked into the mouth of a talking wolf that had risen out of the sand.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Now he was in the belly of the beast, walking around in a labyrinth of treasure, looking for some godforsaken lamp.</i><br/> </p><p> </p><p>Aladdin AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings of a Spark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhoNatural](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoNatural/gifts).



> Thank you to WhoNatural for the great idea! This fic is for her and it all started from this one post [ here.](http://howlnatural.tumblr.com/post/65195831937/killing-time-without-injuring-eternity)
> 
> ~
> 
>  _This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to this work being read aloud and/or shared with the press, or anyone working on said production of_ Teen Wolf, _including but not limited to cast, crew, writers, or producers. I also do not give permission share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which I believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom._

A hooded figure on a horse padded across the desert, the vision of a majestic walled city in the distance behind them. A fierce wind whipped about the lone traveler headed away from the city towards no apparent destination, far from any road. The horse stopped and its rider dismounted, waiting in the silence. The faint glow of moonlight and shifting clouds cast spectral shadows in the bluffs, and the horse shifted nervously.

“Hell of a place you picked for a meetup, Kate. You sure this idiot you picked is going to show up with the right piece?”

The voice appeared to come from the hooded figure, or rather a peculiar lump on the figure’s shoulder, which was now moving.

“Do shut up, Peter. If I had known transforming you into a parrot you would retain your ability to voice excruciatingly annoying and useless opinions I would have killed you outright.” The figure pulled back her hood, revealing a haughty woman’s face with a regal expression and a colorful parrot which was now flying away.

“You can’t kill me, you need me,” Peter said disdainfully as he flew in circles around her head. “And if you want your plan to ever dispose of my dear sister to succeed, I would suggest refraining from insulting my—AWWWK!”

A small flash of what appeared to be lightning had struck the parrot. Kate smirked as he woefully flew back to perch on her shoulder, silently favoring a burnt area on his bum and the staring at the singed feathers that were now falling to the ground.

A few moments later a stout man joined them. “You’re late,” Kate said as he dismounted.

“Apologies,” he grunted, “There was a bit more… _work_ …involved.” There was what looked to be blood underneath his fingernails.

“Well? Where is it?”

From the folds of his jacket he produced a small golden trinket. As Kate reached for it, he snatched it back, sneering, “My payment?”

Kate smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. Under the shadows and the moonlight the expression looked quite intimidating. Unnerved, the man stumbled back, tripping over a rock and dropping the trinket. It was immediately snatched up by Peter, who dropped it in Kate’s palm.

She produced from her pocket another trinket, which appeared to be identical at first glance but was complementary. “I never thought I would see this family heirloom whole again,” she breathed in awe as she joined the pieces together. They formed a circular medallion with an engraving of a wolf, which promptly started to grow and expand rapidly into a large glowing spectral creature.

The wolf howled and ran off into the desert night.

“Quickly!” Kate announced, leaping onto her horse and chasing the wolf, followed by the other man. They pursued the creature for what seemed to be hours among the shifting sand dunes as what was left of the moon moved across the sky.

Finally the wolf stopped and howled once more as he sank into a particular sand dune, his glowing eyes shining bright as a monstrous wolf head rose from the sands.

In the cavernous mouth of the wolf a faint glow could be seen in the depths below, reachable by the stairs set inside the mouth, framed by enormous teeth.

“Your payment lies within,” said Kate, trying to disguise her excitement. “You may have all the treasure you want—but the lamp is mine!”

The man approached the steps cautiously and the wolf howled, causing him to freeze in place. “Who has awoken me?” the head spoke in a deep, gruff voice.

“I—am Gree—Greenberg. Just a thief. Your wolfness. Sir.”

Another bloodcurdling howl. _“Only one may enter. The keeper of the spark. The one with the power to ignite. The keeper of the spark.”_

Greenberg-just-a-thief looked back at Kate with a look of trepidation, taking a step backwards. He stopped when he caught Kate’s glare and menacing crackling of lightning dancing across her palm. He turned back towards the depths of the cavern and slowly placed his foot on the first step. After a few nervous moments of nothing he breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed, starting to breathe regularly again and taking another step.

Suddenly the wolf howled again and the mouth slammed shut on the thief, and the wolf’s head sank back into the sand until there was nothing left but a nondescript sand dune. The eyes of the wolf blinked out and two pieces of the medallion fell dully down the slope where Peter scooped them up.

“This is never going to work,” he squawked indignantly as he dropped the pieces back in Kate’s hand. “It’s never going to happen. You are never going to get that stupid lamp and I will never be human again and –ugh!” He pulled out a few more feathers from where they were burnt earlier. “Can you go easier on the zapping me thing? I only have so many feathers, you know.”

“Have some patience, Peter,” Kate said calmly. “Obviously Greenberg did not have the potential that the cave was looking for.”

Peter snorted, flying back to her shoulder. “I am so surprised.”

Kate adjusted the hood back over her head and wrapped it securely around her and the parrot. “It looks like I am going to have to find this… _spark_ …whoever it is.”

* * *

 

Stiles skidded to a halt, his heart jumping into his throat as he eyed the impossibly high wall in front of him. Well…maybe not so high. The echoes of the busy marketplace were pierced with a few cries of “Thief! Thief!”

He glanced at the alleyway he had darted into in his hasty escape, noting the placement of the edges of the bricks. Plausible, plausible, but if things were going his way hopefully no one had noticed him enter this particular alley from the marketplace.

No such luck.

“He’s in here!”

A burly palace guard approached him, grinning from behind a particularly large and grotesque mustache.

“Now, now, no need for violence,” Stiles admonished. He grinned at the guard, tossing the loaf of bread he had filched back and forth in his hands. He took a few steps back, still grinning.

“Hand over the bread, and then I’m going to haul your skinny ass to jail, you worthless street rat!” the guard grunted.

“Rat?” Stiles raised his eyebrows. “The only one I see is on your face!”

With a quick movement he leapt towards one of the walls, hastily shoving the end of the loaf in his mouth and biting down. In three quick moves and the handholds he had noted on the bricks earlier, Stiles gracefully climbed to the top of the wall, where he took the bread out of his mouth and caught his breath. Stiles turned back just in time to see the guard’s face tightened in anger and the mustache quivering on his face.

Stiles leapt down towards and started racing towards the other end of the market, laughing to himself as he peered around the corner.

The market was bustling with activity, and there were still guards milling about. The same ones that started after him earlier.

Stiles made a few quick notes about possible escape routes and frowning as each of them theoretically ended in capture by the guards. Well, he couldn’t very well stay in this alley either.

As he looked his gaze suddenly fell upon a scruffy curly headed boy who was hiding unnoticed under a fruit seller’s cart. Stiles grinned at him, waving the bread aloft. The boy nodded, and winked.

A few seconds later the entire cart collapsed forward, fruit spilling everywhere. The vendor screamed and as various apples and oranges rolled away and started crying for help. Passersby started to gawk and more opportunistic people began to grab for the free-rolling fruit.

Stiles darted away in the opposite direction as the guards tried to simultaneously arrest people and gather fruit.

Perfect. Just a bit further and he’d have cleared the central marketplace—

Stiles’ elated train of thought stopped suddenly when he crashed into something warm and solid. He fell backwards, surprised, and the loaf of bread flew out of his fingers. Stiles grimaced as he hit the ground, landing flat on his back. He could see white hot sparks of pain behind his eyelids.

Oh, wait, there were hands, helping him up, and what was this? Oh. His bread was being pressed back into his hands.

Stiles opened his eyes and his jaw dropped. In front of him was the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. Stiles had to blink for a moment to make sure it wasn’t a mirage from hitting his head too hard. He was still trying to take in the intense eyes and the dark hair and the smattering of stubble across his cheek and oh what would it feel like to rub his face against that stubble and oh wait the mirage was talking to him—

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Stiles said nervously. “Sorry—for running into you—I mean you were just standing right there—not to imply that it was your fault, because it was totally mine…” The man was continuing to stare at Stiles with a fixed expression and Stiles suddenly realized he was still holding his hand.

Stiles dropped it immediately, feeling his face go hot with embarrassment.

“There he is!” came a gruff roar in the distance. Stiles whipped around and saw the mustached guard start running towards them. He cursed and looked back towards his new companion and was surprised to see an expression of alarm on his face (which sadly, did not detract from the attractiveness of it at all).

“Oh, you’re on the run too?” Stiles asked. The man blinked for a moment, then nodded.

“In a manner of speaking,” he said.

“Come on! We can lose them in the eastern quarter of the city!” Stiles grinned at him and they started running.

 

* * *

 

**Three Hours Earlier**

 

The queen looked down her nose at her son. “I do not understand, Derek. Why must you be so rude to all of these suitors?”

Derek sighed and rolled his eyes, sinking down into a luxurious couch.

“He said you didn’t even speak to him! You just— _glared_ at him the entire time!”

“To be fair, Mother, he didn’t really speak to me either.”

“Are you sure?” Talia Hale bristled, and her entire body straightened. “Boyd tells me that Prince Daehler spoke for quite a considerable amount of time about many subjects, and the great possible alliance of our kingdoms—“

“You’re quite right, Mother. Prince Daehler gave me a great speech. But he never once asked me my opinion on anything, nor of my interests, or even paused at all to give me a chance to speak!”

The queen took a calming breath and then said, “Well if you didn’t say anything how would he have known any of your thoughts at all?”

“Completely beside the point, Mother,” Derek growled.

“You have hated all of the suitors that have come forward! You even threw a vase at Princess Blake’s head! You have no idea of the trouble I had to go through to avoid a war on account of your behavior!”

Derek gritted his teeth and spat, “She hid in my chambers and tried to molest me in my sleep!”

His mother sighed and sat down beside Derek on the couch, twirling her fingers through his hair fondly. “Yes, well, it was lucky we recovered the remains of that spell she was trying to use on you. Nothing good ever comes of those who meddle with sorcery,” Talia tsked. “Isn’t that right, Kate?”

Derek stood up, brushing his mother’s hands away from his hair. He had always felt uncomfortable around the royal advisor, but his mother trusted her wisdom and she had been employed in the palace since he had been a child.

“Of course, your Majesty,” Kate replied, smiling.

“Derek, it is your responsibility to get married. A political alliance is a key component of your duty as the prince and heir to the throne,” Talia said.

“Maybe I don’t want to be the prince anymore,” Derek snarled, and stalked out of the room. The door slammed loudly behind him.

~

Boyd found Derek slumped in a pile of pillows on his back, staring out at the open balcony at the stars.  Derek was wrapped up in his own dark thoughts. It was such a daunting task, to be expected to choose someone not only to share his life with but also to govern the kingdom with him. What if they made a bad decision? What if Derek’s choice led to famine or war? There were so many horrible conclusions that he had drawn from meeting each suitor and their personality. Derek sighed. It was too much responsibility to worry about the lives of all the people in the kingdom. “I can’t do it, Boyd.”

“She means well,” Boyd noted. “You do know it is not just about forming an alliance with another kingdom. She wants you to have someone.”

“I have you, don’t I?” Derek asked.

Boyd blanched and said quickly, “While I’m flattered, I don’t think—“

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean. You’re my only friend who doesn’t want me to be Prince Hale, heir apparent to the throne, key to powers and riches galore.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t make more,” said Boyd.

“How can I when I’m stuck here all the time? Did you know I’ve never even been outside of the palace? How am I supposed to run a kingdom if I have no idea what goes on in the kingdom? What the people are like?” Derek asked in exasperation.

“That’s true,” Boyd agreed. “It’s not like you can just go out and meet them.”

Derek stood up. “That’s a great idea, Boyd. That way I can learn about my own kingdom with none the wiser, and I can prove to Mother that I am responsible enough to not only take care of myself, but also run the kingdom without getting married!” He started rummaging about for a plain set of clothes that wouldn’t give him away as the prince.

Boyd watched these preparations in shock. “Derek, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It was your idea, Boyd. Hey—can you help me get a set of clothes from the servants’ quarters?”

* * *

 

**Present Time**

 

Derek found himself grinning as his guide recanted a story about the loaf of bread he was currently holding, a madcap adventure that included leading the guards on a merry chase around the marketplace and some stunts that should have seen improbable had Derek not witnessed them on their escape.

Derek didn’t know what to make of the other boy—man? How old was he anyway? He seemed like a teenager at first, but there was a haunted look in his eyes that had appeared once when he ranted about that particular baker who always threw away the day old loaves when there were hungry people in the street. Derek guessed he was much closer to Derek’s age.

After the frenzied running out of the marketplace and into the eastern quarter, it was apparent that Derek’s companion was much more familiar with the territory than the guards and incredibly much more agile. It had been almost difficult for Derek to keep up despite his physical training. They soon lost the guards as the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the city.

“Oh, I’m Stiles, by the way,” he said, grinning earnestly.

The smile seemed to light up Stiles’ entire face and Derek was captivated for a moment. “I’m Derek,” he said.

A young boy who looked to be no more than eight years old appeared from out of the shadows. He had bright eyes and dirty curly hair and looked so incredibly skinny that Derek immediately felt guilty for eating the elaborate three course meal before leaving the palace. Is this what it was like for the people living in the kingdom? How many more hungry children were there like this?

“Hey, Isaac!” Stiles grinned at the child and waved him over. “Thanks for earlier! That was really smart, with the cart.”

“Learned from the best,” said Isaac and Stiles laughed, ruffling his curls. Derek watched in amazement as Stiles broke half of the loaf of bread and handed it to him. Isaac broke into a broad grin and stuffed his face into the bread, breathing in slowly and inhaling the scent. “Thanks, Stiles,” he murmured.

Another small figure was emerging from the alcove Isaac had come from earlier. It was small, dirty blonde girl who was watching Isaac and Stiles. “Oh, hey, who’s this?” Stiles said, smiling at her.

“This’s Erica,” said Isaac between mouthfuls of bread. “I found her today.”

Stiles turned to her and asked her kindly, “Did you eat today?” The girl shook her head. “Here you go.” He handed her the remaining half of the loaf. “Isaac, you should take her to Lydia’s kitchen and see if there’s still room besides the oven for kids to sleep.”

Isaac nodded and took her hand as they walked away, munching noisily on the bread.

Derek turned to Stiles and asked, “Did you just give away a loaf of bread that you risked your life for and for the past _hour_ have been talking about how great it would taste?”

Stiles shrugged. “I wasn’t really hungry.” His stomach growled loudly in protest.

Derek shook his head with disbelief, but a smile quirked on his lips anyways.

Stiles laughed and said, “Come on, I’ve got some apples I think in my hideout.” He grabbed Derek’s hand and pulled him forward towards the setting sun.


	2. Magical Assistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate gets some help on the search for the spark.

It wasn’t like Peter honestly enjoyed being a parrot, but sometimes lacking opposable thumbs worked out in his favor. Like now, for instance, where Kate was cursing while trying to pry open yet another scroll from its elegant yet efficient bindings. Peter shuffled along, watching in amusement, glad to be free from assisting in this task.

“Who—sealed—this—damn—thing?” she huffed, pulling at it.

“I believe _you_ did,” Peter said, smirking.

Kate scowled at him, hurling the scroll at Peter. He dodged and flew to perch on a nearby shelf, laughing at her. Kate was surrounded by a pile of opened scrolls and several piles of books. The candles that lit her chambers burnt low, flickering in small pools of melted wax.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” Peter drawled. “Surely somewhere in your meticulous library you would find something—a clue—anything—that would lead to this spark of yours?”

“Shut up,” Kate hissed, throwing a book at him. Peter was too busy congratulating himself over that last comment to dodge efficiently this time and it knocked him to the ground.

“It’s a pity you just can’t _ask_ someone, it’s a shame you’re the last Argent around with knowledge of that wretched cave and legendary lamp,” Peter said, scorn and derision dripping with every word. He pushed the book off of him, shaking his feathers and smoothing them out.

Kate had gone suddenly still, a light gleaming in her eyes.

Peter flew towards her as she started to move towards a chest sitting in a corner. “Not a good idea, Kate!” he warned her. Kate waved him away as he flew in front of her face, flapping wildly. “She won’t talk to you! If it were me, you know, I would probably hold a grudge against the person who tore the soul out of their own flesh and blood so I could fuel their power—mmmpfh!” Kate snapped Peter’s beak shut with her fingers.

 “Hush,” she said, rummaging in the chest. “We’re still family, after all,” Kate murmured, pulling out on an elaborate ring set with a sparkling sapphire and inscribed with runes.

Kate looked at the ring thoughtfully and then after a moment rubbed the sapphire. It started to glow and a blue mist swirled out of it, slowly forming into a girl. She had similar features to Kate but on her they looked much softer and kinder, her eyes closed as the mists continued to swirl dramatically about her. “Do not be alarmed, mortal,” she said benevolently, “for I am Allison, the djinn residing inside your ring, and I have the power to grant you one—“ she opened her eyes and her face fell. “Oh. It’s you.” The swirling mists and sparkles disappeared and Allison crossed her arms. “I should have known that getting my hopes up that you had left or locked the ring up somewhere and someone else had found it. Ugh.”

“Hello, Allison,” said Kate.

 “What do you want? I can’t grant you any more wishes.” Allison gave her a haughty look.

“Not here for your weak djinn powers, Allison.” Kate narrowed her eyes at the girl. “You’re still an Argent, after all. What do you remember of this?” Kate tossed her the pieces of the medallion.

Allison caught them, staring at the pieces and sighed sadly. “You actually found it,” she said.

“Yes,” Kate said proudly. Peter rolled his eyes.

Allison traced her fingers along the outline of the wolf on the edges of the medallion and then gripped her hands around them. “You know that you’re never going to get in. You have to be pure of heart, remember?”

“I don’t,” Kate said, “You were always the one with the perfect memory,” she purred. “How does it go again?”

“Don’t really see how this is going to help you,” Allison grumbled. “And even if it did, I’m not planning to tell you anything anyways.” She glared at Kate and snapped her fingers, disappearing back into the ring a flash of blue mist.

“I told you,” said Peter, flapping his wings. “She has no obligation for any magical assistance to you whatsoever since you used your one wish.”

Kate looked at him, blinking. A predatory grin snuck onto her face, one that Peter recognized and he started to fly away towards the door. “No, no, what makes you think if I got one wish I would use it for your benefit?” he spat.

Lightning struck, and Peter coughed as Kate loomed over him. “Because what benefits me ultimately benefits you,” she said. “Besides, you’ll find your options with Allison-the-djinn are frightfully limiting.” Kate shoved the ring onto one of Peter’s talons and manipulated his other claw into rubbing the stone.

Allison formed again, enunciating, “I. Am. Not. Telling. You. Anything.”

Kate smirked at her and pointed to Peter.

Allison raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

“I wish to be human again!” Peter shouted at her.

Allison looked surprised for a moment and tilted her head at Peter and squinted for a moment. “Oh, hello!” she said, taken aback.

Kate was wearing a smug look on her face that Peter did not like.

“Well, you see,” Allison said, sheepishly. She snapped her fingers and a scroll of parchment appeared in her fingers. She shook it, and it unrolled towards Peter, who dodged and the paper continued, hitting the wall, and as he squinted he could barely see the small text written on it. “Section 5, Clause C, I cannot undo any magical transformation caused by any other party,” she read aloud.

Peter squawked indignantly. Of course Kate would not have given him any semblance of power. He had to try, at least. “How about making me bigger? I could be the size of the palace!” That would be extremely amusing, at least. Peter had a sudden vision of him terrorizing the populace of the kingdom and smashing buildings.

Allison stared at him, then said, “I can’t tamper with the original transformation either.”

Kate snorted. “Get on with it, Peter,” she said.

Peter turned back towards Allison, who was still holding the offensively long scroll of clauses. “What about a never-ending supply of pineapples?” he asked hopefully.

“If you mean real ones, you’re out of luck,” Allison replied.

Peter squawked at her. “What kind of djinn are you?”

“A weak one,” said Kate. “She’s only been imprisoned in the ring for a few years. According to my research the power to create and affect tangible things comes with time.”

“Unfortunately you realized that after you cursed me in here,” said Allison darkly.

“Yes, well, information is always still so incredibly useful,” said Kate, looking pointedly at Peter. “Well?”

“Fine,” Peter grunted. “I wish to know who the spark is.”

Allison sighed and resentfully raised her hands, a blue cloud forming and swirling within. As it grew larger, images of the kingdom began to shape and grow, the buildings glowing warmly with the last rays of the setting sun. The cloud settled, verging on a particular alley in the eastern quarter of the city. The image followed the alleyway towards two walking figures, focusing on the shorter one of them pulling the other by the hand, laughing animatedly.

Kate leaned in, studying the young man as he pulled a wall tapestry behind a crumbling gargoyle statue aside to reveal a hidden passageway.

Kate grinned. “I think the captain of the guards is going to like knowing the location of a den of criminal activity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Getting to know you between Derek and Stiles gets interrupted.


	3. Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles' getting to know you gets interrupted.

“I mean it’s not much, but its home,” said Stiles, proudly, gesturing around his hideout. Derek glanced around at the carefully mended furniture and took in the threadbare sheets on the lonely cot in the corner. Compared to the luxury of the palace, he knows he should be repulsed (a distinct memory of Kate Argent cringing during a meeting with various shabby town officials came to mind) but instead he found the den warm and inviting.

“No, it’s nice,” Derek said, meeting the other boy’s brown eyes. “It’s very—homey. Thank you.” Derek held his gaze, noticing the how the moles dotted Stiles’ face and neck attractively. He had a very nice face, Derek decided, and the dirt and grime was a bit adorable, actually, as he recalled Stiles moving about the marketplace enthusiastically. Derek watched with fascination as a faint blush appeared on Stiles’ face and started on his neck, then realized suddenly that he had been staring.

Derek turned to look at some suddenly fascinating scribbles on the wall as Stiles coughed and moved to rummage in a corner.

The scribbles were crude charcoal drawings, apparently telling some sequence of events that Derek could not quite figure out. There were stick figures with swords and one smaller figure and…were those supposed to be fish?

“Oh, those are Isaac’s,” said Stiles, laughing as he walked over, holding two apples. “He’ll probably be back later.”

Isaac. The curly-haired boy Stiles had given his bread to earlier.

Stiles grinned, rolling an apple from his shoulder and tossing it casually at Derek. The move was so self-possessed and confident Derek found himself struck by the beauty of the languid movement. He caught the apple, wondering what kind of person invested so much time and energy into procuring food and then giving it away when he had so little for himself. Stiles had even taken in Derek, a stranger on the run, offering him safety and food.

Stiles began munching on his apple, chewing thoughtfully as he said, “I’ve been watching out for Isaac since I caught his dad trying to sell him off to miners a few months ago.”

Derek blinked in shock. “He can’t be older than ten! And there can’t be— _children_ —working in the mines!”

Stiles snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re really not from around here, are you?”

Derek scowls and comes up with a vague explanation of traveling and wondering if the Hale Kingdom would be a good place to settle. Stiles easily accepts Derek’s disguise as a common traveler and launches into a surprisingly optimistic defense of the kingdom while still describing a number of shocking things Derek never even considered. Derek eats his apple slowly, while listening to Stiles talk about how the inefficient regulations in the Baker’s Guild leads to all the non-“fresh” baked goods, including bread gets thrown out in the north and west quarters of the city when there are so many hungry people in the kingdom.

Derek has a fleeting moment of guilt, recalling the last time he sat in on the Guildmasters meetings and he struggled to follow their technical talk. Strangely enough he could easily picture Stiles at these meetings, arguing enthusiastically about the laws and regulations. He would probably be better at it than Derek.

Stiles’ face suddenly lights up and he pulls him towards a ragged curtain. “Oh, perfect timing,” he says, pulling back the curtain to reveal a view of the palace shining in the last rays of the setting sun. The whole building is aglow with soft golden light, reflecting on the windows and on the small lake in the gardens.

Stiles sighed in admiration. “Isaac loves this view,” he said quietly. “I said to him once, ‘Someday we’ll be rich, live in a palace, and never have any problems at all,’ and it really stuck to him. The other day I caught him staring out here muttering ‘someday.’ I couldn’t bring myself to explain sarcasm to a kid. I don’t know if it’s better or worse that he carries all this hope with him.”

Derek looks away from the palace, not wanting to think about the gilded cage that awaited him when he returned. If he returned. Sitting here calmly with Stiles, legs dangling over the ledge and watching the sunset, Derek can hear vibrant laughter and multiple noises of people talking and cooking their evening meals. It is incredibly different from the empty, echoing halls of the palace.

“It’s a good thing that you’re looking out for him,” Derek says, turning to face Stiles. “I don’t think I could have picked up that responsibility.”

“Yeah?”

“My family wants me to take—take charge of our business,” Derek says vaguely. Stiles is looking at him intently, listening with genuine interest. “I, well, I don’t know if I’m ready. Or if I’ll ever be ready, because I really don’t think I’m good enough.” Derek lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, realizing that he had barely even acknowledged this thought himself, let alone admitting it aloud.

There is an unreadable expression on Stiles’ face. “Is that why you left?”

Derek nods.

“I think you should be able to do what you want, but not everybody has that luxury,” Stiles says. “Do you want to go into the family business? And how do you know that you’re not good enough? Did someone say something?”

“No, I—“

“There, it’s just in your head then. I’m sure you’ll do a fine job, you’re just nervous about it.” Stiles smiles at him, like he just solved the problem easily just like that. “Do you want to do the job, though?”

“I don’t know what I want,” Derek says.

“Well, I guess you picked a good time to travel then,” Stiles says, brightening. “Tomorrow I can show you more of the kingdom, if you like. That marketplace isn’t the busiest one, or the most interesting—I heard there’s a fire-breather in the western quarter, oh and I always like to watch the ships unload at the docks, but I don’t know if you’d be interested—“

“Yes,” Derek says, a little too quickly. The possibilities of spending more time with Stiles and seeing the kingdom from his point of view are definitely more appealing than returning to the palace to lectures and impending decisions about his future.

He feels warm and content, sitting next to Stiles who is beaming now. Derek feels suddenly quite aware of how close they are sitting together, and as the silence builds, details jump out at him: the honeyed brown of Stiles’ eyes, the threadbare shirt revealing more toned muscle than Derek had ever seen on an appropriately dressed suitor, the open and honest smile.

Derek is only thinking about how Stiles is the first nice person who has liked Derek as a person, not a prince, when Stiles moves close and parts his lips, it feels so natural and right, this moment that was ripe with anticipation is moving in a perfect direction, Derek closes his eyes and moves closer—

“There you are!”

Derek springs back, shocked at the interruption of several palace guards coming down the hallway. Anger, shock, and panic cycle through Derek’s mind quickly. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; he was supposed to have more time to explore before returning—

“Do you trust me?” Stiles asks earnestly, extending his hand.

“Yes,” Derek says cautiously, not understanding where this is going.

Stiles pulls him out of the building with him and they fall towards the ground. Derek barely has time to catalog the flash of rushing colors and the feel of a hand in his when they land in a heap of salt. The cart breaks, spilling piles of the dusty white granules and the two of them onto the street. Stiles is fumbling on top of Derek, trying to get to his feet and slipping in the salt. He catches Derek’s eye and they almost start laughing but there is increasingly loud shouting and footsteps approaching closer.

They quickly stand up, and Derek dashes after Stiles as they make for the end of the street, but a guard rounds the corner. Derek turns around and follows Stiles towards the other end, but Stiles runs straight into a pair of guards, who seize him roughly.

“Let me go, you ugly cretin!” Stiles is flailing wildly, but to no avail as heavy iron manacles are placed on him.

“Well, if it isn’t my _favorite_ street rat,” comes a voice, and Derek recognizes the captain of the palace guards, Jackson.  Jackson approaches the shackled Stiles with glee, yanking the chains and laughing when Stiles grimaces in pain. “When I say favorite, I mean the bane of my existence.”

“Let him go,” Derek demands. The other guards and Jackson notice Derek for the first time and their eyes widen as they recognize him. Jackson immediately falls into a bow and the guards do the same, forcing Stiles along with them. Stiles looks up, confused.

“Prince Derek,” Jackson says, surprised. “What are you doing outside the palace?”

“That’s my business,” Derek snaps. “Now let him go.”

“I would, but I can’t,” Jackson stammers. “You see, it’s under Grand Vizier Argent’s orders. You’ll have to talk to her.” 

“Believe me, I will,” Derek says darkly, crossing his arms.

Nobody notices the small curly-haired boy watching from behind a barrel as they all leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are recognizable quotes from the movie; I do not claim any right of originality to them. 
> 
> Next chapter: Stiles makes a deal.


	4. Returns and Escapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles makes a deal.

“Vizier Argent!” Derek stormed into the room, slamming the doors open. If his mother’s advisor was startled, she didn’t show it, merely straightening her posture and giving him a honeyed smile.

“Why, Prince Derek,” she said, laying a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “You can always call me Kate.”

Derek scowled, shrugging her off. “Your guards just arrested a boy. From the eastern quarter of the city.”

“Yes,” Kate said, “Jackson told me that today’s orders in keeping the peace were carried out successfully.”

“Stealing food should not warrant an arrest!” Derek said, furious. “I thought there were lesser punishments for small infractions!”

“Oh, there are,” Kate drawled. “Time in the stocks, or a good whipping, usually. But kidnapping the crown prince of the Hale Kingdom is a serious crime,” she said, tracing her finger down Derek’s cheek. “It was so lucky that Jackson and his team apprehended the miscreant before he could hurt you.” Kate pulled him towards her into a tight embrace, stroking his hair in a gesture of comfort. Derek pulled away, escaping the cloying smell of her perfume. Kate’s displays of affections always made him uncomfortable as a child, with Derek silently tolerating the obvious gestures to win the queen’s favor. Now that she was the Grand Vizier, the touching and syrupy words made him nervous in an entirely different way.

At least it was within Kate’s power to undo the misunderstanding. “He didn’t kidnap me,” said Derek coldly. “I left the palace on my own.”

“Oh dear,” said Kate, clasping a hand to her bosom like she was affected. “Mr. Boyd was so adamant that you were in your rooms having a good sulk that when it was discovered you were missing I immediately presumed it was a kidnapping.”

Derek was angry with himself that he had gotten Stiles mixed up in this, arrested and locked up somewhere in the palace dungeons no doubt for what was obviously Derek’s fault. Stiles would probably laugh it off anyways once Derek explained and he was released, and they could—

“Why it’s a shame,” Kate says voice high with what could be regret, “The boy has already been beheaded.”

“You—you—“ Derek starts, horrified.

“If I had known,” Kate sighs. “You see, I was so taken aback by your disappearance and was so afraid for your safety that I felt the perpetrator had to be dealt with immediately. A thousand apologies, Prince Derek.” She tilts her head, eyes glittering. “Were you— _friends_?”

From anyone else the words could have been kind, sympathetic.  Derek feels cold suddenly, the words cutting like a knife. He backs away slowly, grimacing at her. After a considerable distance down the hallway he turns and starts into a run, his face falling into grief.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles shakes his chains uselessly. He’s securely chained to the wall in a dank dungeon and the only light comes from a barred grate that’s level with the street outside. Stiles should probably be upset that he’s been arrested and beat up by that idiot Jackson and his team, then shackled into this hole with a very definite bleak future. After all, he knows exactly where he is, he’s mocked the criminals shut in here himself while he’s passed by on the street, their desperate and torn faces peering out at their grates receiving a final bout of humiliation before heading to the chopping block.

Stiles knows that a likely death awaits him, but it only vaguely registers on his mind. “Derek was the prince,” he mutters to himself. Stiles tries to recall everything he said to the prince, and can’t recall anything specific about the stream of words he just let flow. “Oh my god, I criticized his bread policies and then offered to show him his own kingdom.”

Stiles sighs, remembering the warm feel of Derek’s hand in his; the way those gorgeous green eyes looked back at him, the silent fascination he gave towards everything in Stiles’ hideout. Stiles had just thought he was a quiet guy and now he feels sheepish for talking off the ear of the crown prince. It had seemed so lucky, to meet Derek at first, who was this gorgeous and interesting traveler who was so grateful to have Stiles’ help. Stiles was probably imagining that moment in the end, before the guards burst in, when Derek and he were sitting on the ledge and that thrum of anticipation was  ringing through his veins. Stiles probably broke a dozen laws even thinking about a kiss, let alone moving towards one.

Stiles groaned. “I almost kissed the prince. I’m going to be sentenced to death for touching him and trying to kiss him. I am such an idiot.”

“That’s definitely true,” said a voice above him.

Stiles looked up and grinned, a familiar face peeping through the bars of the grate. “Isaac!”

Isaac grinned back, and Stiles felt a warm surge of affection. “How’d you find me, kid?”

“Followed the guards,” said Isaac proudly. “Is it true what people are saying? You’re here ‘cos you tried to steal the prince?”

“What? How did you—“ Stiles splutters.

 Isaac shrugs good-naturedly. “You _like_ him,” he teases.

“Yeah, yeah,” mutters Stiles. “Don’t get any ideas, Isaac. I’m never going to see him again. Derek has to marry someone of royal blood. He deserves a whole better than me,” Stiles says wistfully. “Besides, I’m not going to be—“ he stops suddenly, not wanting to go into his impending death sentence with Isaac.

Isaac snorts. “Shut up, Stiles. I know exactly where you are, you don’t need to sugar-coat it. That’s why I got you this.” He holds up a familiar looking packet and waves it at Stiles.

“Is that—it is! I knew I taught you well!” Stiles exclaims as Isaac rolls his eyes and then tosses the packet into the cell. It lands neatly at his feet.

Stiles opens it gingerly with his toes, revealing a set of lockpicks. After a clever bit of contortion, he finally manages to get the chains open. Isaac is watching him intently from the grate and Stiles walks over to him, massaging his wrists.

“Thanks, buddy,” Stiles says, reaching out through the bars. It’s not quite a hug, what with the angle, but Stiles manages to give Isaac a comforting pat.

“So, can you…” Isaac starts. Stiles glances back at the cell door. It locks from the outside and there is no other viable means of escape. Stiles is silent but Isaac catches the movement and understands. Tears start to well up in Isaac’s eyes, and Stiles pats his hair gingerly.

“Hey, you know me,” he gives Isaac a wink and a carefree shrug. “I’ll figure something out.”

Isaac swallows and wipes his tears away, exclaiming, “You don’t deserve to die! I’m going to get someone to help me with the door, or I’ll get Lydia to come up with a plan! I’m not going to give up on you, Stiles!” He nods resolutely at Stiles, who smiles weakly, and then Isaac runs off into the night.

Stiles watches him for a little, then shakes his head, the gravity of the situation settling down around him now that he has processed his embarrassment over the prince.  

He flops down on the cold stone floor. Now that Isaac is no longer here, there isn’t any point pretending that everything is going to be fine. Stiles tries not to think about Isaac, with his childish heart and fervent hopes that “someday” everything will be better, broken when he learns the news of Stiles’ death. Or worse, if it turns out they want to make an example of him and do a public beheading, they wouldn’t be that cruel, wouldn’t they?

Stiles grabs the loose chains and hurls them at the wall, screaming in frustration. “No use, Isaac,” he mutters to himself. “I’ve already given up.”

“Oh, now that would be a shame,” cackles a voice from the corner.

Stiles jumps up. “Who’s there?” he asks cautiously.

What he thought was a pile of rags in the corner of dirty straw now moves and stands up. It’s a worn old woman, and she approaches Stiles, giving him a calculating look.

Stiles backs away nervously. There’s something to her that he can’t quite describe, like there is something prickly in the air around her. “What do you mean, a shame?” he asks.

“Nothing, you just seem to have given up on everything, including your sweet prince.” She smiles, revealing a row of yellowed and broken teeth.

“What are you talking about?” Stiles scoffs.

The hag laughs. “Treasure, my boy, which would make anyone royal enough that even your prince would take notice.”

Stiles crosses his arms. “So?”

The hag scuttles closer to him, patting his shoulders. “I need someone like you, a nice young man, to fetch it for me. I’m the only one who knows where it is, of course.”

 “If you haven’t noticed, we’re going to be a head short each of us tomorrow,” Stiles quips. Even if whatever the crone said was true, he refused to get his hopes up.

She laughs, a hollow mirthless sound. A gnarled and wrinkled hand pulls a key out of her robes, and then sweeps aside the straw on the floor. There is an ancient trapdoor set in the stone, and suddenly Stiles’ heart begins to beat rapidly. She pushes the rusty key into the lock, and it miraculously turns. Stiles moves towards the trapdoor, pushing it up hastily. There is a familiar dark passage below them, one of the many that run underneath the kingdom.

A hand encloses around his wrist before Stiles thinks of running off. She’s surprisingly strong for an old woman. “You could take advantage of my generosity and just escape,” she says. “You can go back to your old life, living in squalor, always living off the scraps of others like a rat.”

Stiles’ face tightens.

“Work with me,” she says, “And I’ll make sure you’ll have enough riches to buy your own palace.”

Stiles stares at her, thinking about his life, the endless running, Isaac staring hopefully at the palace thinking “someday,” and then finally of Derek standing close enough for him to kiss.

He holds out his hand to her. “You’ve got a deal.”

The woman cackles in glee, taking his hand and shaking it vigorously.

“So, where’s your treasure?” Stiles asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Meet Scott, a very old (and bored) djinn.


	5. Friends Like These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Scott, a very old (and bored) djinn.

Stiles shakes his head, walking past yet another mound of treasure, this time in the form of gold statues, glimmering softly in the recesses of the cave. Yesterday he was just another street rat living in the kingdom, and since then he'd met the prince, been sentenced to death, escaped into the desert with a strange hag with a magical necklace, and walked into the mouth of a talking wolf that had risen out of the sand.

Now he was in the belly of the beast, walking around in a labyrinth of treasure, looking for some godforsaken lamp. 

Stiles edged around a mountain of gold pieces, gaping in awe. The woman had been right when she said he could buy his own palace; he had never seen so many riches in his life. 

Then the ominous words of the wolf from when he entered the cave echoed again in his brain: _Touch nothing but the lamp._

Stiles had raised his eyebrows to the old woman then, but she gestured for him to continue, hissing, "Bring me the lamp! And then I will give you more treasure than you can imagine!" 

Maybe the riches would come from another magical cave, Stiles guessed. Who was he to question the rules of magic, after all? The piles of riches beckoned, and Stiles' fingers _had_ twitched, okay (even a pocketful of these coins would have enough to set up him and Isaac in a comfortable home) but Stiles remembered the warning and continued on his search for the lamp.

Stiles skipped ahead into another passageway, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. He had no idea how long he had been wandering; time had seemed to stretch into a strange standstill. There was no light from the moon or stars down here in the earth, but the walls of the cave glowed with some flourescent substance that cast an eerie glow on the contents of the cave. 

This section of the labyrinth was filled with precious gemstones, and Stiles was careful to avoid stepping on any of the jewels scattered about the floor. His reflection stared back at him, scattered across hundreds of tiny jewels. 

Out of the corner of his eye Stiles spots something moving just out of his line of sight.

"Hello?" he calls.

He rounds the corner and there's only a collection of finely woven tapestries, rolled up and stacked together. 

Stiles shrugs it off; it's just his mind playing tricks on him, feeding off the strange atmosphere of the cave and the fact that he's alone. Best to find the lamp as soon as he can and make it back to the surface. 

He rounds off into another passageway, and it's filled with familiar gold coins. Stiles curses silently and dashes into what looks like an exit, only to find himself surrounded by gold statues. Apparently he's been going in circles. 

"At this rate I'll never find it!" he exclaims in exasperation. "Where in the world is that lamp?!"

Something touches Stiles on the shoulder and he shrieks and turns around, expecting to be eaten by some sort of magical cave monster, but there's no one there. Stiles flails, looking in every direction, but there's just him and the gold and a rolled tapestry--

Wait. 

Stiles walks up to it, examining closely. He could have sworn it wasn't there when he had first come into the statue room. He peers closer at the intricate patterns woven into the carpet, when suddenly it unfurls of its own accord, startling Stiles to fall back in shock. He doesn't quite hit the ground, because the carpet catches him in mid-air and pushes him gently into an upright stance.

"Um, hello," Stiles says, unsure of what the protocol is when talking to sentient pieces of decoration. 

The carpet whirls about, spinning in the air, happily, Stiles guesses. 

"This is incredible," he says, as the carpet shimmies up to him like an excited puppy. "Did you get this way by magic?"

There's another whirl Stiles takes as a yes. It's amazing what magic can do, he considers, as the carpet flies about Stiles' head enthusiastically. 

He then remember's the wolf-head's warning and looks nervously around, expecting to be attacked by things more threatening than a flying rug. "Is it ok, that you touched me, because I don't think I'm supposed to touch anything in the cave," Stiles starts nervously, and then the carpet makes a jabbing gesture towards the treasure and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

"In any case, have you been in this cave long? Do you know where I could find a lamp?" 

The carpet spins in excitement again and furls around Stiles, picking him up bodily and flies off in the cave. Stiles holds on for dear life, grinning as the wind rushes through his hair and they fly through cavern after cavern, twisting and dropping. It's a wild ride, and Stiles can barely register his awe at the sheer amount of riches they pass through. If the hag's promise is true, Stiles will be able to afford to buy his own _kingdom_ if all this is meant to be his. 

The carpet deposits him in a lowly lit cave, where a lonely and worn oil lamp sits in the center of the grotto. Stiles ambles up to it, scoffing. 

The carpet looks at him expectantly, as if it were awaiting praise. "Are you sure this is it?" Stiles asks, pointing at the battered thing. The carpet bobs up and down and Stiles sighs, picking up the thing gingerly. 

"I really appreciate all of your help," Stiles says, and the carpet shakes with enthusiasm. "Think you could give me a lift to the surface?" Stiles asks.

There's a bob and the carpet swoops Stiles up again and starts flying through the tunnels again. This time, Stiles is too distracted by the near completion of his task and what he could do with his subsequent reward to notice the hoard of riches as they fly through the maze. He's midway through a daydream where he's wooing Prince Derek and showering him with gifts when the carpet stops suddenly, as if apprehensive.

"Oh! We're almost there! Thanks, little guy," Stiles says, noticing they've stopped at the bottom of the steps that go up to the mouth of the cave. 

"Boy? Is that you?"

The carpet skitters and flies off. 

Stiles frowns and he turns towards the entrance, where the figure of the woman is looming. "Do you have the lamp?" she calls. 

Stiles looks at the worn metal of the lamp he's holding. It's old and looks useless, but then again he's standing in a cave whose entrance rose out of the ground and he just flew around the entire thing on a magic carpet. He trusts his instincts, and the intuition of magical beings. Something is definitely off here, and Stiles does not want to be ripped off. 

"When do I get my treasure?" Stiles shouts back. "Is it from this cave, because there looks like there's a no-touch policy in place. Or do you have another cache of magical underground riches somewhere?"

The hag's eyes narrow and she screams, "Give me the lamp!"

Stiles shakes his head. "You can have it when I get paid. That was the deal, remember?"

She howls and lunges for Stiles, but the minute her foot touches the first step there is a terrible howl and the mouth of the wolf starts to close. Stiles can hear her cursing as she retreats, and dust and debris fall around him.

The window of moonlight shrinks to nothing and something hard knocks into his head, plunging Stiles into darkness.

 

* * *

 

Stiles awakes slowly, a throbbing pain beating from the inside of his skull. He's still in the cave, and some of the ghostly glow on the walls has returned, but any evidence of the vast expanse of treasure has vanished. In fact, there seem to be no passageways leading to any of the other caverns Stiles had explored earlier.  Nothing but rock all around, and there's no way to the surface in sight.

Stiles draws a rash breath. "I'm going to starve to death," he moans pitifully. "I'm going to die in this cave, in the middle of nowhere, all alone."

His words draw movement and Stiles is wrapped in what he realizes is the carpet. It's cocooning him in its warmth and woven heart and Stiles smiles a little. "Okay, I'm not going to die alone, but still."

Stiles flops on the ground in frustration, the carpet landing next to him. He's not sure if it's supposed to be a gesture of comfort, but he's slightly less miserable that he has some company. 

The carpet pushes the lamp at him.

"You're right, carpet," Stiles mumbles. "This piece of junk is why I'm stuck here." He picks it up, scowling. "I wonder why this is so valuable," he mutters. There's something enscribed in the metal that Stiles can't make out, so he rubs it with his sleeve vigorously to get some of the dirt off the lamp--

Something electric blue sparks out of the lamp and suddenly the cave is filled with hazy blue smoke. Stiles drops the lamp, but there isn't anywhere to escape the horror he's probably unleashed. There's a monstrous roar and a giant figure looms out of the smoke. **"You have summoned me,"** a low, booming voice roars as Stiles stares in shock. The carpet doesn't appear to be afraid, and Stiles is still alive, so it's probably okay, but it doesn't stop him from being nervous. Clouds of smoke are furling around in patterns, and sparks are dancing around. It would be a fantastic sight if Stiles was sure he wasn't going to die. 

"Um, sorry? I didn't mean to," Stiles offers cautiously. "Please don't kill me."

 **"I am the all-powerful, the all-seeing, the generous, the mighty djinn of the lamp,"** the voice continues in a low baritone. 

Stiles closes his eyes and braces himself for the killing blow. 

"Why are you cowering? Oh no, it wasn't supposed to be _scary!_ I can't believe I went with that introduction, I'm so sorry. I've had thousands of years to think about what I would say to the next master of the lamp, and I messed it up! Are you okay?"

Stiles opens his eyes slowly. The sparks and the smoke have disappeared, and there's a guy standing in front of Stiles with a worried expression. Other than the fact that he's slightly glowing blue, he looks perfectly ordinary, about Stiles' age, and now peering at him with big brown eyes. 

Stiles looks back at him curiously, not sure what to say. This was the terrifying monster that the hag wanted in her control? 

"What do you mean, master of the lamp?" Stiles asks.

"You rubbed my lamp, you can now summon me and my powers," the guy says, lighting up. "I can grant you three wishes, anything you want! Well, within reason. But I'm really excited, I haven't been out of the lamp in what, several thousand years?" He beams at Stiles. "Hey, carpet! How've you been?" 

There's some complicated greeting routine that the djinn does with the carpet that involves jumping and dancing. Meanwhile, Stiles' head is spinning. Magical wishes. No wonder the lamp was so coveted. He could--he could do any number of things. Wheels begin turning in his head, and Stiles begins to see an _incredible_ amount of potential in this situation. 

"So, three wishes," he leads.

"Yes, three magical boons I can grant to you. Oh--I came up with a song and dance and everything to explain it, do you want to see?"

The carpet bounces up and down excitedly but Stiles shakes his head. The djinn shrinks a little in disappointment. "What do you mean, within reason?" Stiles asks curiously. "I mean you did say you were the all-powerful, and everything."

"You only get three, that's the magical rule. And I can't interfere with someone else's free will directly, by manipulating their mind or emotions, nor can I send or bring anyone beyond the plane of death." This is all recited very quickly.

Stiles quirks his eyebrow. "Sounds like an awful lot of limitations for someone whose supposed to be almighty and generous," he says, blinking. "I don't even know if I could make any wishes you could grant; I mean, I've only seen you make a bunch of smoke and sparks." Stiles walks by, noting the djinn has started to glow profusely in anger. "You know, I don't even think you'd be able to get us out of this cave," he says nonchalantly. 

There's a flurry of smoke and sparks and Stiles and the carpet are grabbed as the djinn expands and lifts them upward, speeding towards the surface. **"Consider that granted!"** he booms. 

Stiles laughs, his body quaking with mirth. "Alright, you powerful thing, you. Do you have a name?"

"Call me Scott," he says, as the rock explodes spectacularly and they emerge from the earth. 

 


	6. Plans and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wish is made and things get rolling.

Scott was not happy about getting tricked into magicking Stiles out of the cave without using a wish, but he let it go fairly easily. Stiles was clever enough to do it, and Scott had been too excited about proving his magical abilities to go through with it. Plus, Stiles was the first master that Scott had that didn't rush into wish making (in fact, the only one who hadn't known what a djinn was and the power it implied). 

Scott was out of the lamp for the first time in ten thousand years and he actually was pretty happy, albeit a little confused.  They were currently relaxing in an oasis that Scott had directed them to with trees, freshwater bubbling spring and all (it had been scorching hot under the noontime desert sun, and Scott, if not anything, was a thoughtful djinn). 

Stiles had seemed more interested in talking to Scott, and when he found Scott had no knowledge of the modern world he immeadiately lapsed into broad, colurful descriptions about the kingdom he lived in and modern society. Scott couldn't help laughing at Stiles' animated face and the ease and general camaderie that flowed from him as they relaxed in the shade with the carpet drifting lazily around them. 

It was a nice atmosphere, and Scott was definitely glad that Stiles was not referring to him as "slave" like his last master, but was treating him like a friend. It was strange, but definitely nice.

"So, have you thought about your wishes, Stiles?" Scott asks after Stiles finishes one of his stories. 

Stiles skips a rock lethargically into the spring, a faraway expression in his eyes. "You know, if I had met you a few days ago, I'm sure I would have jumped at the chance for magical solutions. I thought I would have known exactly what I wanted. Unlimited food and riches, shelter and safety for all the orphan kids like Isaac..." he trails off.

Scott brightens, imagining creating all of these things. It's exciting, having a master of lamp whose desires are to create and provide for others, rather than destroy. He wriggles his fingers, conjuring up a sparkling vision of a bountiful feast spread out and children running around dazzling gardens.

Stiles looks up and smiles faintly but he walks right through the image, causing it to disappear in a shower of sparks.

"I don't know, Scott, I still want these things, but now that I've met, I mean, I don't know if you can even help me with this, since you already technically said you can't," Stiles jumbles through his words, flailing his hands in a wild, desperate motion.

Scott raises his eyebrows. "Try me," he says. He isn't all powerful for nothing. He's probably the oldest, most capable djinn in the world right now. 

Stiles sighs. "I think I'm in love with Prince Derek," he says. "I thought the prince would have been an arrogant bastard, but when I met him he was just so nice, and earnest, like he just wants to do a good job as a prince, and ugh, he has these dreadfully gorgeous green eyes..."

"That's great!" Scott smiles, throwing sparkles of confetti in the air, floating gleefully. "Love is wonderful, love is amazing, love is--"

"I can't be with him," Stiles says morosely. 

Scott sinks a few inches. "Why not?" 

"He's royalty, Scott. They only marry other royals." 

Scott brightens up, throwing sparks in the air and shooting a grin in Stiles' direction. "Well then, that is something I can definitely do." 

 

* * *

 

Kate furiously crackles lightning at another dummy made of straw. She throws round after round of crackling hot electricty until all of them are on fire. Peter squawks indignantly, flying away from the fiery scene and screeching, "You know, this doesn't solve any of your problems!" 

Kate throws the next round at him, but he's already flown away. "Well, it makes me feel better," she retorts.

"I can't believe you didn't get that lamp," Peter mutters. "All that planning and scheming, wasted!"

"That wretched boy," Kate hisses. "I hope he rots in that cave forever." 

"At this rate you'll never get control of the kingdom," Peter says, flapping his wings at the flames licking a dummy's head. "I mean, you would have a better chance at marrying Derek."

Peter is laughing to himself, but Kate narrows her eyes, considering. "That, is not a bad idea, not a bad idea at all," she whispers. 

The parrot scoffs. "He hates your guts," Peter says. "How would you ever get him to do it?"

Kate laughs, rummaging through a few scrolls until she finds the one she needs. "Guilt, of course." She grabs the scroll, inks in a few lines, and strolls off on her heel as Peter watches her suspiciously.

 

* * *

 

Kate finds the Queen lounging in the throne room, reading through some paperwork. "Your highness," she greets, bowing dramatically. "I believe I have a solution for Prince Derek's problem." 

"Oh?" Queen Talia looks up. "Do tell, Kate." 

Kate smiles and unfurls her scroll, reading. "If the prince or princess does not find a suitable match by their twenty-first birthday, they should then marry the Royal Vizier." She gasps in mock surprise. "Why, that's me." 

The Queen gives her a look. "Well, I suppose your knowledge of state affairs would be a boon to the kingdom, but aren't you a little _old_ for my son?"

Kate coughs and waves her hand. "Nonsense! My wisdom would only add to his exceptional rule as king."

Talia beckons her closer and reaches for the scroll. "Let me look at that law, Kate, I'm not quite sure that's what it says."

Kate hands over the scroll as the queen scrutinizes it carefully. After a moment Talia sighs a little, gives Kate a once-over, and stands up. "I'll let Derek know. It's not the ideal circumstance for him, but at least the marriage would help prepare him for taking the throne and thinking about responsibility." 

Kate is inwardly crowing with delight but stoicly bows to the queen, saying, "I will be humbled to be of service to the kingdom." 

As the Queen walks off, there is a sudden blast of horns and music, and she halts, listening. "What is that?" 

Kate frowns, following Talia to an open balcony overlooking the main avenue leading to the palace. There is an obnoxiously loud and garish parade of individuals marching towards the palace, singing and trumpeting music and waving an unknown crest. 

Queen Talia gasps in delight. "Oh, it must be another royal retinue with a suitor to woo Prince Derek! Oh my, look at all the servants and performers. What--what are they singing?"

The parade draws closer, and now the chanting is audible, a sonorous, "Make way for Prince Stilinski!"

The Queen rushes back inside, commanding the guards to open the gates. "Aren't we lucky, Kate! You might not have to marry Derek after all if he likes this one!"

Kate resonates with anger. After all this time, the plotting and scheming, to have what she wanted slip out of her grasp and then to have it dangled in front of her only to be snatched away again? Her control slips a little and lightning starts to spark from her fingertips. Kate puts it out quickly before anyone can see and mutters to herself, "Prince Derek is definitely not going to like this one, whoever he is. I'll make sure of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Derek meets Prince Stilinski and is not impressed.


	7. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek meets Prince Stilinski and he is not impressed.

Derek is curled up in his study, crossing out and scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. He normally hates anything to do with the endless laws and regulations of the kingdom, but he is furiously trying to make his new amendment to the marketplace regulations work.

Derek rereads one of the lines in his head, hoping that this would fix the problem of throwing away day-old food when there was plenty of hungry people in the streets. There are piles of unfurled scrolls and open books surrounding him, a pit of research that Derek had thrown himself into in hopes of circumventing his despair. 

It didn't completely work, because Stiles was still on his mind, behind every thought and breath that Derek took throughout his day. Guilt surfaced everytime Derek awoke in his luxurious chambers, surrounded by wealth; he was reminded fervently of the lone apple Stiles had offered him like a treasure when Derek was presented with an array of exotic fruits; Derek saw Stiles' exuberant gait in the dancers practicing their stunts in the gardens. 

Of course there's the sheer enormity of the _possibility_ of Stiles that colors Derek's grief, it's not like mourning the passing of a beloved friend or comrade, it's that he doesn't know what he and Stiles might have been, might have shared, might have become. The world is cruel and unjust, and Derek has no desire to talk to anyone. Even Boyd has avoided him, leaving him trays of food surreptitiously in Derek's chambers. The loyal servant must have made his excuses to the queen as well, since no one has sought Derek out. 

All the better, since Derek only wants to be alone, writing laws that someone he could have loved would have wanted. 

Unfortunately there is apparently a huge ruckus outside the palace gates, getting louder by the minute. It seems to be a parade of some sorts, complete with dancers, musicians, and performers. The noise is giving Derek a headache and he can't concentrate on writing, so he heads to his personal balcony to determine what the commotion is. As far as Derek knows, there aren't any parades scheduled, nor is it a national holiday to warrant the celebration. 

The parade is an riot of color, an obnoxious assault on the senses, and it is all the gaudy and jubilant things that Derek does not want in his life right now. What's worse is he can see the palace gates opening and the horde of people are spilling into the gardens, singing and dancing and radiating happiness while Derek sits in his tower, dressed in full mourning.  

Derek realizes that the singers are chanting something in unison, and all the performers in the parade are twirling and throwing flags with an unfamiliar crest, like they are _announcing the arrival_ of a royal party, and of course, they are enthusiastically calling out a name, over and over again. 

Derek's displeasure roars up in a rage of unwarranted fury. He is in no mood for another foolhardy suitor attempting to impress him with empty flattery right now. Derek is definitely not going to politely take his attentions and come up with a diplomatic and vague dismissal this time, he is going to outright demand that this "Prince Stilinski" leave, right now.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is a little nervous about the whole plan, but Scott's easy exuberance and puppy-like excitement about using his magic quickly won him over. He picks at the expensive white linen frock that Scott had clad him in. The parade had been a little ridiculous, but incredibly fun after Scott had assured him all the people he had conjured him were mere illusions, and they would disappear, "returning" to Stiles' mysterious kingdom after escorting him here. Stiles had been more concerned about being recognized by Derek or any of the guards, but Scott had tsked and waved his hands, assuring him in a shower of sparks that no one would recognize him unless Stiles wanted them to. 

And now he was meeting with the Queen.

Stiles sighed a little, patting down the elaborate headress where he hid the lamp with Scott safely tucked inside. 

The Queen swept into the room, a figure of poise and grace. Stiles swept her with an exaggerated bow, hoping his portrayal of a swaggering royal prince was authentic. 

"Prince Stilinski!" she greeted him warmly. "Welcome to the Hale Kingdom. I must thank you for all your generous gifts."

Stiles bowed his head graciously and took her offered hand, kissing it gently as he had seen nobles do. 

"Queen Hale, only the best for your kingdom," Stiles said in what he hoped was a deep and impressive voice. 

"Oh please, call me Talia," she said, beaming. "I can't wait for you to meet Derek. It's just what he needs, he's been shut in his room for the past few days, in such a state!" Talia looked Stiles up and down, patting Stile's cheek fondly. "You are quite young for a such a seasoned adventurer. I've never seen such a vast and diverse array of offerings."

"Ah, yes, I have come from quite a long ways, and have seen some incredible sights of the world," Stiles drawled. "I'm sure I will be happy to entertain Prince Derek with my amazing tales and travels." 

He strikes what he thinks is a dashing pose, and the Queeh laughs, saying, "Oh, you are adorable." Stiles tries to find a more relaxed pose but doesn't quite know what to do with his body, so he ends up copying the stiff posture of one of the guards, which makes the Queen laugh again. "It's quite refreshing to meet a prince who isn't all about formality and coordination," she says. 

"Oh, I am definitely a unique one," Stiles says, grinning at her.

"I'm afraid you may have be a little patient with Prince Derek," Queen Talia says, sitting down on her throne and looking at Stiles, tapping her fingers with concern. "He usually drags out the courting process; ever since one princess was insulted that she wasn't greeted immeadiately and left right away, Derek ignores all his suitors at first." 

"Ah, well, I will put my infinite patience to good use," Stiles says, giving her another deep bow. 

"That won't be neccesary," growls a familiar voice. Stiles turns to see Derek, whose handsome face is not marred at all by some ridiculous head-to-toe black outfit he is wearing.

"Derek!" Queen Talia exclaims delightly. "This is Prince Stilinski, he's travelled all the way from--"

"I don't care where he's from," Derek hisses. "All I care is he goes back there right away." 

Stiles frowns. "But I'm a prince! I'm royal! I brought you _presents!_ " slips out of his mouth in one quick indignant second and Stiles coughs and tries to compose himself quickly by saying smoothly, "I mean, Prince Derek, it's an honor to be in your presence. I have brought you treasures from across the land in hopes of winning your favor." 

Derek glares at him. "I don't care." He pokes Stiles' expensive headress, and the jewels encrusted in the coat. "You are nothing but a conceited bag of frippery. You think you can just flounce in here with your  _parade_ and extravagant _gifts_   and just _win me over_?" 

Stiles steps back. "I, er--" 

Derek pulls the headress down, and Stiles stumbles a little, disoriented as the lamp bounces on his head and he tries to straighten it. When Stiles gets it to rights, Derek is walking away angrily and calls out, "Just leave!" as Stiles looks on, dumbfounded.

Queen Talia looks at Stiles with pity. "He's never done that before. Oh dear, I'll go talk to him. You're still welcome as a guest, of course. I'll have a servant come and show you the guest chambers." 

Stiles watches as she leaves, leaving him alone in the throne room. He's surrounded by opulence, in the palace that he's always dreamed of, wearing more riches than he ever imagined, and Stiles has never felt more empty and poor his entire life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add in that magical disguise bit because I was always miffed in the Disney version that Jasmine and Jafar never recognized Aladdin. Dude, he had the same exact face.


	8. New Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic carpet ride. Yeah.

Stiles groans into the silk pillow, making noises of defeat. He's been put up in some sumptous guest chambers, and there's a part of him that should be thrilled to be decked out in silks and have servants waiting on him but he's acutely miserable. "Why? Why isn't it working?" he laments, flopping onto his back. Stiles can see Scott floating on the other side of the room, engaged in a chess game with the carpet.

"Scott, help me," Stiles calls.

Scott pushes a rook into place and beams at Stiles. "Do you want another wish? That first one went really well, didn't it! You don't think the parade was too much, right? I mean the elephants and the camels and the dancers really made the right 'Prince Stilinski' statement, along with all those great gifts. There must have been no doubt that you were a very rich and powerful prince."

"No, no, that was all great, you did a great job," Stiles starts. "But Derek apparently hates me. He won't even talk to me."

Scott looks like he's in the middle of a thought when he realizes that the carpet has captured the rook and checkmated him. "Really?" Scott asks, throwing his arms up in the air. The carpet shakes in a flurry of movement, and Scott replies, "I am _not_ a sore loser!"

Stiles watches this exchange with little amusement, and proceeds to bury himself in pillows. A few moments later there is blue glowing next to him in the pile of cushions and Scott materializes next to him, shaking him. "You are not a sore loser, either, Stiles!" Scott exclaims.

Stiles blinks at Scott and he gets poked in the chest. "I thought you said you were in love with this guy, eh?" Scott accuses. "You wouldn't shut up about how nice he was and how eager he was to do a good job!" Another jab. "I have led generals to war and raised entire cities in a day," Scott continues. "You cannot come all this way just to give up now."

Stiles stands up suddenly, casting the pillows aside. "You're right," he tells the djinn. "I should go talk to him."

Scott brightens, throwing up sparkling visuals of a couple embracing. "Yes, absolutely! Tell him how you feel, the joy you took in your meeting, how you understand his soul--"

Stiles splutters, waving his hands and breaking up the glowing people. "No, I can't tell him I'm that stupid street rat he met in the marketplace. I acted like such an idiot." Stiles straightens his turban and pats down his white linen outfit, striking a confident pose. "I need to be smooth and sophisticated."

The carpet claps its tassels together appreciatively.

"I'm going to go find him," Stiles says, and the carpet flies over to him enthusiastically. Stiles steps on, glancing back at Scott, who looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "How do I look?"

"Royal," Scott says in a flat tone, and then he dematerializes into blue smoke and flows smoothly back into the lamp hidden under Stiles' turban.

"I guess that means we're ready," Stiles says, smoothing his outfit once more, and the carpet flies off and out of the open balcony into the night.

 

* * *

 

Derek is fairly pleased with himself, despite the foul mood he was in earlier with the noise and meeting that obnoxious Prince Stilinski. He's proud of himself for telling the suitor off, but he's actually the most content with finishing the new market regulations. There are several scrolls of marked up drafts on the floor and all over his desk, but Derek rolls up a pristine copy of the finished draft, sealing it with wax.

Derek leans back with a satisfied sigh, relaxing for the first time in the day and enjoying the quiet of the night.

There's a faint knocking sound and someone calling "Hello?" but it isn't coming from Derek's door. He turns around cautiously, heading for the source of the noise, which strangely enough is coming from Derek's balcony.

"Who's there?" Derek calls out gingerly.

There's a cough, and then, "It is I, Prince Stilinski."

Derek scowls, approaching the balcony. He can see the man now, standing in the center of Derek's balcony in a ridiculous pose, shoulders thrown back in a stiff stance. The idiot somehow managed to climb onto Derek's balcony, of all things. At least he wasn't hiding in the room like that presumptous Princess Blake had been.

"Go away," Derek growls. "I thought I told you to leave the kingdom."

"You did," Prince Stilinski says, nervously. "But you haven't gotten the chance to get to know me!"

"I am very busy," Derek says flatly. "I am in mourning. I want nothing to do with you. Leave."

Prince Stilinski sighs sadly and leans back towards the edge of the balcony, slumping his shoulders. "So, I should just go then."

Derek nods in a quick, tense movement. He's expecting the prince to pull out a skein of rope out of his coat or something, or make for the nearby ledge on the palace wall, but what happens next takes Derek quickly by surprise: Prince Stilinski dips his knees and in one smooth, languid movement jumps over the balcony ledge like water spilling out of a glass.

Derek rushes forward, his heart jumping into his chest, calling "No!" in horror but it's too late, the prince has already disappeared over the ledge. Derek leans over, but doesn't see a mangled body in the courtyard below; instead, Prince Stilinski is floating somehow just below the balcony.

Derek's heart is still racing as the prince slowly drifts up towards the balcony. He's still in shock that Prince Stilinski threw himself off the balcony, but more so the _way_ he had done it-- Derek had only seen that graceful type of movement on one other person before, and that person was dead. Derek pushes the thought to the back of his mind and focuses on the present, more baffling question. "How are you doing that?" he asks, amazed.

Prince Stilinski grins at him. "It's a magic carpet. I found it on my travels."

Derek traces the edges of the carpet in wonder, and it reacts like an affectionate puppy being petted. "Fascinating artifact," Derek says, admiring. He looks up and is slightly startled to find he is quite close to Prince Stilinski's earnest face.

"Do you-- do you want to go for a ride? I could show you the sights!"

The prince did have a nice smile, Derek noticed, but there was something strange about his face, like there was something he ought to remember but when he tried he came across a blurry wall in his mind. Derek hesitates, but remembers what his mother said earlier about getting to know people and how he had demanded Prince Stilinski leave at once without even talking to him.

Prince Stilinski holds out his hand to Derek and asks with an open smile, "Do you trust me?"

Derek is thrown back by the familiarity of the question, the smile, and the extended hand, but he says, "Yes," and a hopeful suspicion begins to blossom in his heart as he takes the offered hand.

The carpet whisks them away into the night, and they fly, practically touching the stars as the wind races by them. It's nothing like Derek has ever experienced, not riding a horse, or camel, or a boat. They soar past the vast green fields and deserts surrounding the Hale Kingdom, fly around spectacular mountains shrouded in mist, dipping back to earth to see incredible sights Derek has only seen in books: different kingdoms with colorful costumes and strange buildings, herds of wild horses running free in the moonlight, caverns and canyons filled with large and fantastical birds.

Its a breathtaking experience, and Prince Stilinski makes for pleasant company, pointing out the sights with glee and enthusiasm, eyes filled with wonder like he had never seen them before either. Which is surprising, if Prince Stilinski has had this magical carpet for any length of time. Derek adds this to the growing intuition he has about this prince.

The carpet slows to a stop atop a picturesque hill so they can admire the spectacular fireworks in a foreign land, Derek's heart nearly stops when Prince Stilinski plucks two apples from a nearby tree and rolls one casually down his shoulder to Derek.

Derek takes the apple but doesn't eat it, watching Prince Stilinski closely as he bites into his own apple, gazing at the fireworks happily.

"This is amazing," Prince Stilinski murmurs around bitefuls of apple, with no amounts of the forced refinement of any royal. "Aren't you glad you came along? What would you have been doing on this lonely night if I hadn't come along?"

"I am glad to be here," Derek agrees slowly. "Otherwise I would have just been rereading law scrolls. I just finished writing a new one, in fact, about lowering the regulations in the marketplace so that non-fresh food items can be given to the hungry instead of thrown away."

Prince Stilinski looks at him, eyes wide. "Really? That's incredible!" He throws his arms around Derek in a tight embrace, and Derek barely has time to breathe in his scent and be surprised by the hug when he is let go and the prince says with an air of embarrasment, "I mean, it must have been a lot of work. It means so much to me, that you did that, I mean, I didn't think you would care about small laws like that." He's tripping over his own words, and there's a piece of apple on his cheek, and Derek stares incredulously.

Could it be? It would be impossible, but stranger things have happened, after all Derek has traveled vast distances across the world today on a carpet.

Derek plunges ahead with, "It's not a small law, because it affects a lot of people. There are so many hungry children starving in the kingdom. I'm sure Isaac would appreciate it."

There's a small adoring smile, a casual bite of the apple, and then, "Yeah, he would.  He has this weird thing about stale bread, he really likes chewing on it."

Derek's jaw drops, and he stares at Prince Stilinski _,_ sitting calmly next to him eating an apple on a grassy hill. Its like a fog has been lifted from his brain and its ridiculous how Derek could not have seen it before, that face, those honeyed eyes and moles dotting the chin with the bright smile that had been haunting him ever since they met.

"Stiles!" Derek exclaims, pulling the turban off his head. It's surprisingly heavy for a simple headress, but Derek musses up the slicked hair a little, and there he is, that bright boy from the marketplace, dressed in expensive linens instead of rags. 

"I-- _what?"_

"It is you! I knew it!" Derek glares at him. "Why did you lie about who you were? And fake your death? Did you know what I went through?"

"I didn't mean to," Stiles protests. "And what do you mean, fake my death?"

"I was told you were beheaded," Derek says angrily. "I mourned for you! I wrote a law for you!" 

"Derek, I'm sorry," Stiles says, taking his turban back quickly and settling it on his head. 

"Who are you, really?" Derek asks. 

"Look, you did meet me at the marketplace, alright," Stiles begins nervously, picking at his collar. "I dress as a commoner pretty often, so I know what it's like. To live among the people, to see what they need, so I can make better decisions." 

Derek lets out a breath. It wasn't that strange, after all it had been what Derek had been doing the day they had met. "What about Isaac?" Derek asks curiously. "You said you were watching after him for a few months."

Stiles coughs, and then says, "I, er, left my kingdom a few months ago, determined to make it on my own. So when I made friends with Isaac, I didn't have any resources. He's quite young, and wouldn't have survived the treacherous journey back to my own kingdom where I could take advantage of my wealth. But when I was arrested with you, the vizier recognized me as a prince and wanted to avoid any conflicts, so I was released right away." Derek watches him while he explains, and it isn't until Stiles fixes him with a sincere stare and says, "I knew I had to see you again," when Derek's breath catches and he feels a fluttering feeling rising in his stomach. 

He realizes he's staring and they've been sitting in silence for a moment, and Derek realizes it feels a lot like that moment when they were sitting on that ledge in Stiles' hideout before they were interupted. 

"I'm glad you came back," Derek says finally, taking Stiles' hand in his. 

They don't let go hands the entire carpet ride back. 


	9. Turn of Events

It has been the best night of Stiles' life, and he wants to remember every dip and turn of the carpet, Derek's eyes in the moonlight, the feeling of their hands clasped together as they return to the palace.

He had been shocked when Derek recognized him, but luckily Derek seemed to believe the prince-dressed-as-a-commoner story. Stiles had been pleasantly surprised that Derek had been apparently so affected by their brief meeting and Stiles' supposed death-- mourning and even writing a law in his memory. Stiles had been so overthrown by that gesture he had even pulled Derek into an embrace and had to fall back in embarassment.

Stiles doesn't regret any of it though, now that the night has been filled with Derek's slow smiles and the slight caress of his fingers on Stiles' hands.

They reach Derek's balcony, and the carpet slows to a halt. Stiles holds Derek's hands aloft as he steps back onto the balcony and then looks back at Stiles with a content expression.

Stiles smiles back and their eyes meet again, and the moment still carries that otherworldly feeling, like they are still drifting together in the clouds.

"Goodnight, Stiles," Derek says slowly.

"Sleep well, Derek," Stiles says, stepping back slightly, but the carpet is shifting beneath him, pushing him forward.

They meet in a kiss, and Stiles loses himself in the warmth and breath of Derek's lips, gently pressing back against his. It feels like an eternity and a second all at once, and then just as quickly, it is over. Derek returns to his chambers with a small, secret smile and a short wave.

Stiles falls back in a satisfied sigh onto the carpet once Derek is out of sight as it drifts lazily towards Stiles' room.

"The perfect ending to a perfect night," Stiles says, still in a little daze. "Everything is finally...perfect."

That's precisely the moment when everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

Scott's in the middle of painting what should be a _masterpiece_ when he feels the magic pull of being summoned out of the lamp. "I hope you ended up telling Derek the truth about all this, he strikes me as a smart guy," Scott is saying when he realizes that he's underwater. There are schools of fish swimming by, and the moonlight barely shines through to where he is, apparently on the ocean floor.

Scott looks about warily. "Stiles!" he calls out in concern. Scott spots a figure drifting closeby in a tangle of seaweed, and it's Stiles, pale and wan in the water, blood caked on his forehead, chains manacled around his ankles and secured to a heavy iron weight.

"No, no, no," Scott murmurs, shaking Stiles vigorously. The turban and the lamp inside it must have fallen off his head when Stiles hit the ground, and the lamp probably grazed Stiles' bare hands to warrant the summoning. Whoever had planned this probably did not account for the powers of a magical djinn.

Scott would happily rescue the master he truly liked, no, the only _friend_ Scott has had ever since he's begun his miserable slavery to the lamp, but there were rules to the magic, and it had to be that Stiles made the wish. It was so infuriating, watching Stiles' unconscious head bob in the water, that Scott had all these powers at his disposal but could do nothing.

"Come on," Scott pleads. "Make a wish. Just say, Scott, I want you to save my life." He shakes Stiles again, and Stiles' head bobs up and down.

Scott hopes desperately that this works, and to his delight he is glowing and sparkling with power instead of being sucked back into the lamp. "Yes!" Scott shouts triumphantly, snapping his fingers and the iron chains weight disappear. "Your wish is definitely granted," he says, grabbing Stiles and swimming towards the surface.

 

* * *

 

 Kate hums with triumph when the captain of the guards makes his report to her.

"And you're certain you disposed of this Prince Stilinski?" she had asked.

Jackson nodded solemnly. "He just got back to his room on his flying rug thing, and I just had a guy hit him on the head. We threw the body over the cliffs. Pretty sure Prince Stilinski is rotting at the bottom of the ocean now."

"Good," Kate said, smiling.

Peter squawked, "Awk! Bottom of the ocean!"

Kate rolled her eyes; it could annoying, when Peter tried to emulate a real parrot in front of others and repeated things, but it was usually amusing when people reacted to her "pet," like the way Jackson was now. 

"Heh," Jackson snorted. "Funny bird. You want a cracker?" He grabbed a biscuit off a nearby tray and started bothering Peter with it, trying to stuff it in his beak as Peter squawked indignantly and flew the other direction.

Kate watched this with amusement for a few moments then finally snapped, "Enough," dismissing Jackson with a wave of her hand. 

Peter flew towards her, cursing with exhaustion. "I hate crackers," he said, spitting them all out. "When I am human again I will have all the crackers in the kingdom set on fire."

Kate laughed, sweeping towards the door. "Promises, promises. I have to rule the kingdom first," she says. 

In the throne room she finds Queen Talia reviewing a scroll, beaming proudly. "Ah, Kate, dear!" she exclaims when Kate enters the room. "You must read this law that Derek wrote, it's quite well done. I'll say he's really shaping up to his responsibilities." 

Kate narrows her eyes. "I'm sure," she says. "I just wanted to let you know that Prince Stilinski has left the kingdom." 

Talia sighs. "Oh dear, I'll have to talk to Derek about his temper." The queen frowns. "It's a shame he left. I don't believe we have any more suitors scheduled to visit."

"Since Prince Derek's twenty-first birthday is only in a week," Kate starts, but she is cut off.

"Ah, yes, then we'll wait a week, then." Talia says.

Kate frowns, the fury building up within her. She doesn't want to leave anything to chance, not any new suitors, or anything else coming between her and her plans for power. Kate builds up a ball of energy, glowing, prickly light not unlike the lightning she has used before. This power will cost her dearly in strength and energy, but it should be worth it. The queen is mesmerized by the glowing light, and her eyes dilate.

A bead of sweat drips down Kate's forehead as she strains to keep up the hynotism. "You will order Prince Derek to marry me," Kate commands.

"I will order Prince Derek to marry you," the queen repeats, absently, standing up. Kate follows her, holding the light between her hands and keeping the control spell constant as they enter Derek's chamber. 

"Mother! I have great news!" Derek says when he spots the queen, a large grin on his face. 

"And I have great news for you as well," Talia says stiffly as Kate manipulates the energy behind her back.

Derek raises his eyebrows. "What is it? Why are you acting so strange?"

"I have decided that you will marry the Royal Vizier, Kate Argent," Talia announces, and Derek freezes, a look of horror crossing his face as he spots Kate standing behind his mother. Kate doesn't take the time to roll her eyes, since she's busy concentrating on keeping the control of Talia. But that insolent whelp is going over a cliff as soon as she's crowned Queen. 

"Never!" Derek snaps. "I choose Prince Stilinski." He turns, looking to plead with his mother, but finds only a blank expression. "Mother! What is wrong with you?"

Derek shakes her, but to no avail. Kate still spending an awful lot of energy keeping Talia in her control, but she can't help but sneer, with the feeling of victory so close. "Your precious Prince Stilinski _left_ the kingdom," she hisses.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," calls a voice from behind Kate. It's Prince Stilinski, standing with a smug expression and turban hanging jauntily off his hip. 

"Stiles!" Derek says in relief. Kate furrows her brow and still keeps up the control spell, but her mind is spinning inwardly. What in the world is a Stiles? Is it some sort of nickname? 

"Tell them, Vizier Argent. You ordered the palace guards to have me killed," Prince Stilinski. "I recognized the voice of the your captain, Jackson."

"Preposterous!" Kate spits out. "You're obviously lying." Why would Prince Stilinski have recognized Jackson's voice, though? It's not like they had ever met before...

"He is obviously lying," Talia repeats in a monotone. 

"Mother!" Derek exclaims. "Stiles, help, can't you see, there's something wrong with her eyes."

Kate realizes from Prince Stilinski's standpoint he can see the lightning-energy ball she's holding in her hands, sparkling with light. He shouts and suddenly tackles her to the ground, breaking her concentration. 

Talia blinks and looks around the room. "What's going on?"

"Your majesty, the vizier has been controlling you with magic!" Prince Stilinski exclaims. 

"She was forcing you to command me to marry her," Derek adds with disgust. 

Talia rounds on Kate. "I would _never_ command my son against his wishes!"she snaps. "And you! Controlling me! This is treason, Kate!" Talia beckons with her hands. "Guards!" 

Kate backs up, when suddenly she sees _the lamp_ , hanging out of the boy's turban, swinging nonchalantly on his hip. A million explanations and plans rushes through her head at once, but she can't help but laugh hysterically at the events that have led to today. Kate is still laughing when she throws a smoke cloud and snarls, "This isn't over!" Kate's laughter continues throughout the quick teleportation spell, when she reappears to a secret lair. The lamp, oh, the lamp. This isn't over, not at all. 

 


	10. Promises and Preparations

Stiles rushes towards Derek, who is still coughing from the smoke. "Are you okay?" Stiles asks, grasping Derek's hands.

Derek nods and their eyes meet, and Stiles smiles, a little shyly, the memories from the night before rushing through him.

Queen Talia has shooed the guards away once they have found no trace of Kate, and suddenly converges upon them. "Why, Derek! I cannot believe my eyes!" she exclaims, a grin lighting up her face.

Stiles is a little nervous but the Queen merely looks at Derek, who is looking at Stiles, and then wraps Stiles in a warm embrace. "My dear Prince Stilinski," she breathes, "It seems you have accomplished what many could not and have won the heart of my son!"

She kisses Stiles' cheeks and he can feel himself flush in embarrassment.

Derek snorts a little and pulls her off of Stiles. "Mother," he admonishes. "I just-- I just love him, okay," he says, giving Stiles a small smile.

Queen Talia squeals with delight and hugs Stiles again, surprising him with the force of the embrace. He's even lifted off the ground and spun a bit.  Stiles is still a little shocked and coming down from the excitement of the confrontation with Kate and now, hearing from Derek that he _loves_ him, Stiles can hardly believe it. Stiles was pretty sure this was not how he pictured their first confession of love, especially as he was being aggressively laden with affection from the Queen.

"And you're accepting his suit?" she asks, finally releasing Stiles.

Derek nods enthusiastically.

Queen Talia claps her hands. "Marvelous, marvelous! I shall begin the wedding preparations immediately!" She strides off, humming to herself about preparations.

Wedding? Stiles blinks as Derek steps closer, reaching for his hands again. Wasn't it a little soon to think about a wedding?

"Not soon enough," Derek murmurs, kissing Stiles' hands.

"Ah," Stiles says, a little distacted. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.

"My mother wanted me to be married before my coronation as king on my twenty-first birthday. I'm just glad I met you in time."

"When--when is your birthday?" Stiles just manages not to squeak.

"Next week," Derek says, smiling, pulling Stiles closer. "Thanks to you, I no longer have doubts about being crowned King. And I am sure you will rule by my side with honor and dignity."

Stiles is nervous; he doesn't know how to rule a kingdom! All he wanted with his wish was to see Derek again and be in a position to court him, and now there are all these things are happening at once. He just barely escaped an assasination attempt yesterday, and now Stiles' life seems to be moving at a rapid pace, like a frenzied horse that Stiles has fallen off of.

Derek quirks his eyebrows at Stiles. "Are you alright?"

"I'm with you, of course I'm alright," Stiles says brightly. He's just being a little paranoid, that's all, after a life of running around and always getting screwed over. Stiles should be happy that some things are settling into place.

Derek pulls him into a kiss, and Stiles relaxes. Everything is going to be fine.

* * *

"I don't get it. How is everything going to be fine?" Peter squawks.

Kate laughs hysterically. "That 'Prince Stilinski' is nothing more than that wretched street rat, Stiles. He has the lamp, Peter, I saw! He must be using the powers of the djinn to do all this." Kate narrows her eyes. "That power is rightfully mine," she hisses.

Peter flaps his wings. "Power that Stiles has," he adds.

Kate zaps him with a lightning bolt and Peter squawks in pain, flapping at himself to put out the flames. "You are going to get that lamp for me, Peter. Go!"

Peter squawks and flies off, muttering, "Do I have to do everything around here?

* * *

 

Stiles has finally found a bit of privacy out in the gardens. It had been overwhelming, Queen Talia bringing both he and Derek around to discuss the wedding and the preparations for the upcoming ceremony, and it had all gone to his head and made him nervous. More so, Stiles felt increasingly guilty and out of place. However, as soon as Stiles got a minute alone, Derek would whisk Stiles off into curtained corners for stolen kisses that went straight to Stiles' head and left him breathless. It's not like Stiles didn't enjoy those, but seeing Derek's happy face in the wake of the preparations made Stiles a little queasy about the lies he had told to get here in the first place.

Stiles pulls off the turban and heavy ornamental jacket he's wearing, along with the ornate slippers on his feet. He flops down in the grass, barefoot and wearing only pants, feeling a lot better and more like his old self. The carpet is fluttering nearby, chasing some birds around the lake. Stiles leans back, pulling the turban closer for a pillow, and sighs, nestling against it.

A flow of blue smoke whirls out of the turban, and Scott materializes and breaks into a grin when he sees Stiles laying idly in the grass. "Congratulations!" Scott exclaims, showering him in gold sparks and streamers. "You did it! You're going to marry Prince Derek!"

Stiles sighs and pulls listlessly at the grass. 

"What's wrong?" Scott asks, snapping his fingers and making the decorations disappear. "I thought it was what you wanted."

"Yeah, but I only thought about being with Derek, you know, not ruling a kingdom," Stiles says. "What if I can't do it? What if they find out? They want 'Prince Stilinski', not me. I don't think-- I don't think I can do what I said, with my last wish, Scott." Stiles swallows, remembering the conversation he and Scott had right after escaping the cave. Under the dazzling sun in the desert oasis, they had talked of many things, and also of Scott's imprisonment in the lamp. Stiles remembers being horrified that his friend was enslaved and promised to free Scott with his last wish. 

Scott stares at Stiles, and he seems to deflate a little.  "Look, Scott, I can't risk it. I need to save the wish, for something important, like if the kingdom were to go to war or something." Stiles is aware of the rapidly darkening expression on Scott's face. "If they find out I'm not a prince, I can lose everything!" Stiles snaps. "I'd lose Derek." 

"You know, I thought after all those years I had found a friend," Scott says slowly. "But I understand, it's just a part of who you are. I mean, you lied to the kingdom, the one you love, why should I be any different?" 

"Scott--" Stile starts.

Scott dips in an exaggerated bow. "Summon me again when you know of your last wish, _master,_ " he says, and disappears in a puff of smoke. 

"Scott!" Stiles shouts, shaking the lamp, but it doesn't glow or shake or make any noise. "Fine!" he exclaims, shoving it back in the turban, and then kicks it in some nearby bushes for good measure. 

The carpet approaches him cautiously, its surface bent as if in pity. "Go away!" Stiles says, shoving it rudely, and it flies off in horror. 

Stiles sits for a moment alone, anger disappitating quickly, leaving him with only regret. "I didn't mean it," he says to no one. Stiles sighs. Scott was right, he was just a liar. He couldn't keep lying to Derek, it wasn't fair. He grabs his jacket and sets off the the palace, determined to tell Derek the truth. 

Behind him, a parrot watches him leave, and then dives into a certain bush. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the lovely comments and sticking through with me so far! We are moving rapidly into the final act...


	11. A New Power

Derek finds Stiles walking in from the courtyard, adjusting his jacket nervously.

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you," Derek says, pulling him close. Derek adjusts the collar of Stiles' jacket and smiles at him, taking his hand and pulling him along.

"Derek, I have to tell you something," Stiles says.

"Whatever it is, my answer is yes," Derek says, trying to reassure Stiles with his eyes. He's never felt so sure about anything in his entire life; whatever Stiles has to say isn't going to change that. He smiles at Stiles, trying to convey the bright, hopeful feeling running through him, but Stiles just looks back at him, blinking nervously. "You can tell me after the announcement," Derek says, squeezing Stiles' hand.

"Announcement?"

"Here we are!" Derek says, pulling Stiles onto the broad balcony in front of the palace, where Queen Talia is standing there, beckoning for both of them. There's a crowd of people in the courtyard below, buzzing with noise and anticipation.

Stiles looks a little bewildered. It's a little adorable.

Queen Talia raises her arms, and the people fall into a respectful silence. "Today is a cause for much happiness and celebration," she says, her stately voice carrying far across the courtyard. "I am proud to announce the betrothal of my son, Prince Derek, to the noble and brave Prince Stilinski!" She gestures at them, and Derek pulls Stiles foward with him so they can face the crowd.

They're cheering, applause and shouting in the air, and Derek feels a wave of pride sweep though him; it's his decision that has them roaring with approval, his choice, choosing _Stiles._ He holds up Stiles' hand in his and he waves to the air, Stiles also waving back nervously.

The sky darkens, and there is an ominous flash of lightning in the distance and the low rumble of thunder. Dark clouds swirl above the palace and a harsh, biting wind picks up, nipping and sharp. Derek frowns; it had been a clear sunny day just moments before. The lightning flashes again, and there's the distinct tang of _other_ and magic that has his nerves on edge.

The palace shakes, and Queen Talia looks up in alarm as the fortress rumbles beneath their feet. Derek rushes to steady her, grabbing her arm and holding fast to Stiles with the other. Is it an earthquake? Derek's heard of such phenomena before but such natural disasters were extremely rare in this part of the world.

There are shouts of alarm and panic from the crowd, but the quake doesn't appear to be affecting them, and in fact the entire palace seems to be moving away from the courtyard and their quickly shrinking subjects below, as if they are being torn from the foundation of the earth and thrust into the sky...

Derek freezes when he sees it; turning his head, he can see a monstrous giant figure, glowing bright blue in a strange semblance of a man, figure dancing with sparks, holding the entire palace and moving it away from the center of the kingdom towards the distant mountains.

Queen Talia gasps in shock and fear, and Derek can see Stiles' eyes widen when he sees the blue giant. "Scott?" Stiles gasps. "Scott, what are you doing?" he calls to the giant, and for a brief second Derek thinks he can see a sad, resigned expression on the giant's face. He doesn't have time to ponder how Stiles knows the creature when they're confronted by the sound of crackling laugher behind them, high and brittle.

Derek turns to face Kate Argent with a sinister sneer on her face.

"Kate! You traitor! You are behind this wicked sorcery!" Queen Talia accuses. "Stop this at once!"

"There's a new Queen," Kate says, drawling her words and white-hot sparks dance along her fingers. As she speaks, blue light whirls around Talia, removing her crown and drifting it over to Kate, where she twirls it around her finger before placing it imperiously on her own head. The muted robes she wore as Grand Vizier sparkle blue and change into the bright, shimmering gold colors of royalty. "Now bow down before me," Kate demands.

"Never," Derek says, and spits at her feet.

 Her mouth curves in a wicked smile. "Djinn, I know my second wish," she announces to the skies and what must be the monstrous blue man holding the palace. "I wish to be the most powerful sorceress in the world!" 

"SCOTT! DON'T!" Stiles is shouting, and it sounds like an angry plea, desperate and broken.

There's a brilliant surge of blue light surrounding Kate, and then she laughs again, voice brimming with satisfaction. "If you only knew, Talia, what you called 'sorcery' before were mere parlor tricks," she hisses, and then she snaps her fingers.

Derek feels an uncontrollable force surging over his body, and it's painful, prickling, forcing him to his knees. His mother is kneeling beside him, face seething with anger. 

Kate saunters over to where Derek is kneeling; try as he might, he cannot force himself to stand up or even to move, and oh how he wants to move away when Kate ducks her face unbearably close to his, stroking his chin with a finger. "You should have married me when you had the chance," she whispers cruelly. "I would have made it simple and merciless, killing you right away. Now I think I'll keep you around. A queen always needs a few playthings, right?" Kate drags her fingers down the hollow of Derek's throat while Talia looks on in horror.

"Get your hands _off_ of him!" Stiles roars, and he hurls his body at Kate, but she simply waves her hand and Stiles is thrown off into the air, hitting the balcony floor with a thud. 

"Oh, and as for you, _Prince Stilinski,"_ Kate says, words dripping with disdain. She thrusts her hands at Stiles and fiery lightning shoots out of it, shocking Stiles while Derek can only look on, immobilized, while Stiles is twitching and moaning in pain on the ground. 

She turns and throws Derek a grin. "How well do you know your betrothed, Derek? Did you know that your precious Prince Stilinski is nothing more than a wretched," she blasts Stiles with lightning, "lying," another bolt, and Derek tries to scream but no sound comes out of his mouth, " _street rat_?" Kate flicks her hands at Stiles, and suddenly his finery is gone, and he's wearing the same rags he wore when Derek first met him. 

"Derek," Stiles gasps.

"Go on, tell him the truth," Kate says, voice simpering. "Tell him how you lied to him for your own devices to get yourself on the throne, tricked him into believing you were someone you weren't." 

Stiles looks at Derek, eyes brimming with pain, but he doesn't say anything. Why isn't he saying anything? What Kate accused him--can't _possibly_ be true? 

"Derek, I didn't mean to--" Stiles starts, and Derek's insides suddenly feel cold, an emptiness filling his core. 

Kate laughs and snaps her fingers, and heavy iron manacles suddenly materialize around Stiles' arms and legs and a thick gag wrapped around his mouth. The chains levitate, glowing, and start dragging Stiles away. 

Derek can only watch, frozen, mind still reeling with all the potential implications of what Kate had said. There's a distant terror in his mind about Kate taking over the kingdom and gaining all this magical power, but at the forefront Derek is toiling over Stiles; his heart beating rapidly with the doubts that are now settled there. Had Stiles been lying the entire time? 

How could have what started out as such a perfect day end up such a terrible mess? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, Kate, you sadistic power-hungry you, what do you have planned next?


	12. Turning Point

Stiles struggles against the chains, but to no avail. Once again, he's caught in a dungeon with a bleak future ahead of him, but this time, there's no Isaac to rescue him. He doesn't even know if Isaac knows where he is. Stiles flails a little, but it's more to express frustration than to try and get loose. He shouldn't have been so narrow-sighted with the djinn and wanting to woo Derek as a prince. He should have just wished for what he wanted for Isaac and all those kids in the first place, to ensure all those orphan kids in Lydia's kitchen got a safe home, food to eat.

But he was selfish, and now he's in this huge mess.

There's a scuttling noise, and Stiles looks towards the door, and something is slithering through the crack between the door and the floor.

"Carpet!" Stiles says delightedly. The carpet shimmies into the cell, flying up to meet him, tassels flicking affectionately at Stiles' face. It swirls around him protectively, patting him on the head. "I'm so glad you found me. Is Prince Derek and the Queen okay?" 

The carpet bobs a little, and the shakes nervously. Stiles figures this means that they aren't in immediate danger, but it's not looking that good. "Hey, buddy, do you think you can help me out of here?" 

The carpet swirls a little, tassels shaking at the locked chains, and Stiles groans. "Right, opposable thumbs would be useful. How about..." He looks closer at the individual threads of the tassel. "Hey, can you hold still one of those threads? Like firm it up and bend it into any shape?" 

Carpet flicks a thread into a curly knot and then unknots itself. "Perfect," Stiles says, grinning. It only takes about twenty minutes to get the carpet to make a usable lockpick, and then the manacles snap open. 

He doesn't have time to celebrate because he can hear footsteps coming down the hall. "Hide!" Stiles tells the carpet, who immediately slinks to a dark corner and lays flat. Stiles arranges the manacles so it looks like they're still locked, and then leans against the wall with what he hopes is a sad and dejected expression.

The door flings open and Kate strides in, wearing regal robes and a snide smile. "Well, if it isn't my little pet rat," she drawls. She claps her hands together delightedly, and Stiles notices she's wearing an ornate silver ring set with a gleaming sapphire. If he manages to pinch it and then escape, Stiles can bet he can sell it for enough money to get a sword, and hire some mercenaries to come back and help somehow. It's worth a shot. 

Kate walks towards him, flicking her fingers out to tap Stiles under the chin. "I don't think I'll kill you right away," she says, giving him a cold look. "After all, I have you to thank for my success." She snaps her fingers and her face shrivels and wrinkles to the hag that guided Stiles to the treasure in the first place. 

"You!" Stiles snaps angrily. 

Kate laughs, high and cruel, and she stalks out of the room, head held high. 

Stiles waits until the door is completely shut to free himself from the unlocked manacles, twirling the ring in his fingers triumphantly. The carpet flies over to him, twirling in circles in excitement. "Yeah, yeah, I know, it's a start, right," Stiles says. "This gem doesn't look too good, though, I don't think it'll fetch much," he says sadly, but the carpet seems way too enthusiastic for this small victory. Stiles narrows his eyes, looking at the sapphire; it's all clouded and the color doesn't look very bright at all. He spits on his palm and rubs it, trying to polish it, and then the ring suddenly gets warm and starts to  _glow._

"What," Stiles says, dropping the ring to the ground, where a blue mist is spilling out of the gem, swirling into the shape of a-- a girl? Her back is turned to Stiles, and she's tapping her foot unhappily against the stone ground. 

"I  _told_ you, Kate, how many times, I can't give you any more wishes--" 

"Um," Stiles says. 

The girl whirls around, and the cross expression immediately disappears from her face. "Oh!" she says delightedly. "You're actually-- wow, I totally-- wait, I'm going to go back in the ring, and can you summon me again, I'll be a lot more impressive this time, I promise."

"Wait," Stiles says. "Are you a  _djinn_?" he asks incredulously.

"Yes," she says generously, and then she glows, levitating in the air, mists swirling around her. It's a very pretty display, Stiles has to admit, so he claps appreciatively, remembering how Scott always liked it when he was impressed with his magic. "My name is Allison, and I am the djinn residing in the ring, and I have the power to grant you one wish," she says. 

Stiles looks at the carpet, who is rubbing its tassels together happily, and then back at Allison. "One wish," Stiles says. He takes a deep breath. "I'm going to have to think about this," he says, "But we should leave here as soon as we can. Carpet?" 

The carpet perks up, and with the use of another tassel-turned lockpick, they leave the dank prison cell and fly off into night towards the lower kingdom. 

"Alright, then, Allison," Stiles says, wind whipping through his hair as they leave the palace. "I don't know how to fix this," he says, launching into the entire story. 

 

* * *

 

The carpet lands in the courtyard of Lydia's kitchen, and as soon as Stiles' feet touches down a door opens and Isaac and Erica are rushing at him. "Stiles!" Isaac shrieks, throwing himself at Stiles' legs, hugging him tightly. "Where have you been? And whoa, what is this?" he asks, petting the carpet. "And hello!" he says, looking curiously at Allison, whose silvery dress is being tugged on by Erica with gaping eyes.  

"Are you a princess?" Erica asks, eyes wide.

"I used to be," Allison says sadly, petting Erica's hair. "Aren't you a little darling." 

Isaac is mashing his face into Stiles' knee, and when he looks up his eyes are brimming with tears. "I thought you were dead," he said in a small voice. "I came back and the cell was empty." 

"Not dead, little guy," Stiles says, ruffling his hair. "Thank you for looking for me, though." 

In the doorway he can see Lydia giving him a long-suffering look and Stiles holds his arms out until she hugs him back. "I don't suppose you have any idea why the royal palace just up and disappeared," Lydia says. "The whole kingdom is in an uproar. No one knows what to do." 

Stiles laughs sheepishly. "Ah, yeah, about that," and for the second time he launches into a retelling of the story. Allison hums and sighs at all the right parts, and the kids listen raptly. 

"Right, but we can do something about all of this now," Stiles says with determination. "Allison can use her magic, and she can give each of us a wish, right?" 

Allison nods, but holds up a hand. "Okay, but I've only been a djinn for six years," she says. "I've got limited power. I won't be able to undo any of Kate's sorceries or change what the other djinn has done," she says sadly. "I wish I could."

Stiles takes a deep breath. "Okay, okay. We just have to be...creative." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait for this update, guys! Thanks for sticking through and being patient. One more chapter to go! :)

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the fic is from the song "Arabian Nights" in the Disney movie. As this entire story is based on the movie, there will be similar scenes and situations. I am not profiting at all in any way from this work and am writing this purely for fun. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading! Yes, there is more to come. You can find me on tumblr [here.](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com)
> 
> ~
> 
>  _This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to this work being read aloud and/or shared with the press, or anyone working on said production of_ Teen Wolf, _including but not limited to cast, crew, writers, or producers. I also do not give permission share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which I believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom._


End file.
